


Can't Buy Me Love

by theemersongiraffe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Combeferre is looking out for Enjolras, Courfeyrac I love you, Enjolras is a lot more messed up than I thought, M/M, Prostitution, This is not Pretty Woman, alcohol - do I even need to mention this?, everyone is in here eventually, friends don't let friends become prostitutes alone, or planned, when did Grantaire get so responsible, when did this turn so angsty, written under the influence of red bull
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemersongiraffe/pseuds/theemersongiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Grantaire: famous artist, often drunk - and devoid of a muse. Then he sees him, and everything changes. Or, I tried to write something resembling pretty woman and this is what came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire often walked the streets during the twilight hours, searching for some sort of muse. He was a famous painter, true, but even the most famous occasionally run dry. In Grantaire’s case, this was painfully obvious. Despite the pressure from his agent and patrons, nothing was coming. Even the drink that usually served when no muse was available was no help. Not that Grantaire hadn’t tried. His friends – and even his agent – were worried by the amount of alcohol that he’d been consuming of late. He reassured them that he was alright, but once this behaviour had spanned the course of the week, they were convinced that it was not alright. 

Grantaire scoffed into the bottle he was holding, that was regrettably almost empty, as he thought about his friends. They were acting like he’d never done this before, which was the farthest from the truth. He always did this – he was just usually better at hiding the empty bottles. His agent – and best friend – Courfeyrac, had warned him that he’d better sober up for tomorrow night, because apparently there was this fancy gala at the gallery that he had to attend. Courfeyrac wasn’t above threatening, usually, but he’d made an exception for this. Grantaire knew that he should care about things like where his finances came from, but all he could think about was his current dry spell. 

That was when he saw her. Turned away from the street, the light above her illuminated the view for Grantaire. Her golden curls cascaded down, just long enough to cover her shoulders. He could not tell the colour of the clothing from this far away, but Jesus Christ was it tight. Grantaire found himself walking towards her, drawn to her for reasons that he couldn’t really explain. Just before he reached the sidewalk she turned around, and that’s when Grantaire noticed that she wasn’t a she at all, he was a beautiful man who was now staring him down a small smile on his face. 

“Monsieur,” he greeted, “are you looking for some company?”

Grantaire couldn’t help but stare. He was no stranger to the seedier side of town, and had even… paid for the services of some lovely ladies in his time. But they had never looked like this. This was surely a God, fallen from earth and looking for a way back to his paradise. 

“Monsieur, are you alright?” the man asked, walking closer to him. 

Grantaire recovered quickly. “Yes. I, uh, yes I suppose I am looking for some company. What’s your name?”

The gorgeous man blinked, as if he was confused by the question, but it was replaced with the same odd smile. “What do you wish it to be?”

Grantaire considered his options for the moment, before a wide grin broke across his face. “Would you be my Apollo?”

The man didn’t seem surprised by the name. “Yes monsieur I can be your Apollo. Is your place far?”

They had already started walking, with Grantaire leading the way. He supposed that he should have asked important things like prices, but what was the point of being rich if he didn’t spend it frivolously? Not that this man walking beside him was not worth every dollar. 

Thankfully Grantaire’s hotel was nearby, and also gratefully empty. There was only one person at the front desk, and they were busy on the phone. Apollo had gone quiet since they had started walking, and Grantaire was trying to figure out why. Once they were in the privacy of his room, a prestigious suite reserved for prominent artists, did he turn to Apollo. 

“Would you like something to drink, Apollo?” he asked, already reaching for a bottle of wine. 

“I um… I don’t drink,” Apollo said quietly. Then louder, he said, “Unless monsieur wishes me to?”

“No, no I was just offering,” Grantaire said. “And you can quit it with all this monsieur business. The name’s Grantaire.”

“Grantaire,” Apollo said, savoring the name. 

“So, before this goes any further I suppose I should be asking for prices, right?” Grantaire asked. “I haven’t really done this in a while. Jesus I shouldn’t be telling you that…”

“It depends on what you have in mind, Grantaire,” Apollo said, already taking off his knee high boots. 

“This is probably going to sound odd,” Grantaire said, as if what he had been wanting this whole time had suddenly occurred to him, “but can I paint you?”

“Paint me?” Apollo had been in the process of removing his shirt, and he paused to look at Grantaire. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not as creepy as it sounds,” Grantaire said quickly. “I’m an artist. I’ve been looking for a muse tonight, and I’m pretty sure I found one… so how much?”

Apollo looked at him, confused. Out of all the scenarios, he had never imagined this one. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted. “Nothing like this has ever come up before.”

Grantaire laughed. “No, I suppose not. How does $500 sound?”

Apollo’s eyes widened, but he slowly nodded. “If that’s what you want to pay. You just want to paint me?”

Oh, Grantaire wanted to do much more than paint this beautiful god, but his fingers were itching for a brush and he wanted to capture this feeling in case he never saw this man again. “Yes, that’s it. Let me go get my easel. You make yourself comfortable, alright?”

Grantaire quickly went into his bedroom to grab supplies, and when he came back he found Apollo lounging on the couch… completely naked. Grantaire almost dropped everything he was holding. He couldn’t help it, he stared, taking in every inch of flesh. Apollo seemed to notice that he was standing there, and turned his head ever-so-slightly. “Grantaire.”

“You’re naked.” Grantaire cursed himself for being so awkward, and he tried to cover up by setting up his easel and a freshly primed canvas.

“I assumed that’s what you wanted,” Apollo said. “Why else would you settle for a prostitute?”

Grantaire did drop his brush then. He looked at Apollo. “That isn’t why I wanted to paint you. I would settle for you clothed, if that’s what you prefer.”

Apollo looked away, but not before Grantaire noticed his flushed cheeks. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, if you’re comfortable like this, I’m not one to argue,” Grantaire said, picking up his paintbrush. He worked quickly, not wanting to make his Apollo cramp up, the broad strokes of an outline coming gracefully across the canvas. After an hour, he not only had the bare minimum that would allow him to work from memory, but he had also managed to capture Apollo’s expression perfectly. Grantaire finally looked up. “You can move now. I’ve got most of it down.”

Apollo slowly stretched. Grantaire couldn’t help but watch every movement of the man. “Uh… I suppose you want your money.”

“Eventually,” Apollo said. “Whenever you want me to leave.”

Never, Grantaire wanted to say. He wanted to take this man off the streets and have him around as a permanent muse. “You can stay here for the night if you want… I mean, I’ll pay you extra. Actually, I have an event tomorrow night. Some sort of gala. Would you like to accompany me?”

Apollo just stared at him. “A gala?” he asked.

“Yeah, a meet the artist type of thing. My agent keeps bugging me to bring someone. I’ll pay you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Apollo said slowly. 

“How much would that cost anyways?” Grantaire asked. “Five thousand for the day?”

“I…” It was Apollo’s turn to stare. “You would pay that much for my company?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. “And we’ll go shopping tomorrow. I need a new suit anyways.”

Apollo’s eyes widened even further. “I can’t believe this. I’d be a fool to decline.”

“Alrighty then, Apollo,” Grantaire said. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”

“What?” Apollo asked. “I can’t do that to you! This is your place!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want to sleep with you, but not tonight,” Grantaire said. “So the couch it is. Trust me, I’ve slept in worse places.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” Apollo insisted. “Could we at least share the bed? If you’re worried about money I’m not going to ask for more.”

“It’s not about the money,” Grantaire said. “You’re alright with this?”

“You’ve been kind,” Apollo said. “I trust that you’re not going to take advantage of me.”

Grantaire winked at him. “Not yet. Come on then, my Apollo let’s get some sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day Grantaire will get the courage to do two things: ask his Apollo's name, and sleep with the wondrous God. Today is not his lucky day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update but chapter three is coming as soon as I write the opening scene.

Grantaire awoke to a loud noise. He shrugged it off, trying to ignore what must have been some sort of alarm that Courfeyrac had pre-programmed. His eyes flickered open however, when the noise stopped, and the god warming his bed slipped out of the room. Curious, Grantaire followed him. 

Apollo was on the phone, and Grantaire couldn’t help but listen in. “’ferre, I’m alright,” Apollo was saying, and he sounded exasperated. “I just stayed the night. No big deal.”

The person on the other line said something that made Apollo scowl. “I didn’t sleep with him. It’s not like that. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you. Tonight. Maybe.”

Apollo hung up, and turned around. He stared at Grantaire, his expression unreadable. “Good morning.”

“Worried friend?” Grantaire couldn’t help but ask. 

“A… yeah, I guess he is,” Apollo said. “I’m sorry if that woke you up.”

“Make it up to me by coming back to bed?” Grantaire suggested. “You’re quite the cuddler.”

Apollo froze. “Oh god I’m so sorry.”

Grantaire sighed. “It’s okay, I rather enjoyed it. Come back and keep me warm.”

Apollo reluctantly complied, heading back into the bedroom without a word, although the expectation of what was going to happen was visible in his eyes. Grantaire had noticed but – for once! – his intentions were pure. Alright, his mind had gone there (several times, and he was painfully hard at the moment) but he wasn’t going to be an insensitive jerk and bring up prices. Not when he had to function throughout the day. He fully expected this Apollo of his to have him incapacitated for a long time. Grantaire wanted to enjoy every moment when it came, not rush through it because he had that stupid gala to attend. Not for the first time, Grantaire cursed the fact he was famous. Alright, the money was great and allowed him to travel. But the expectations like these events? Not so great. What Grantaire wanted was to be left alone to paint, and if his pieces sold… well, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Speaking of not complaining, he did have this rather glorious god waiting for him in his bedroom and what was he doing? Standing here (probably looking like an idiot) thinking about his career. Seriously, he was going to have to rethink his priorities. So Grantaire heads back into the bedroom. He isn’t sure how to deal with his Apollo since 1) he wants him and 2) he is a prostitute. This should be easy. Grantaire could just offer up some money and it would be a done deal. Except something in him is hesitating. Grantaire thinks that he needs a drink. Or maybe he should get his head checked. The point was, that if he was refusing sex of any kind there must be something wrong with him. Or Courfeyrac was getting to him. Both were very troubling issues.

“Um… Grantaire?” the blond haired god called from his bed and shit, had he really been still standing there like an idiot, where he could be seen?

“Right. Bed.” Grantaire said.

*~*~*

It’s mid afternoon by the time that they manage to leave the hotel. Grantaire knows that he’s been putting off the shopping – he really hates suits! – but staying bed had been really comfortable. Besides, it had been productive, because he’d managed to get several sketches of his Apollo in the meantime. It was nice to have a muse again, and even better that he didn't complain. Apollo could have easily asked for more money, or refused to be drawn, a horror Grantaire didn't want to think about. So he's focusing on the suits. They've entered a store by now that Grantaire has never been in and never will again if he has his way (he won't because Courfeyrac is a little shit). The layout is bothering Grantaire because these people obviously know nothing about colour how is he supposed to trust them with fashion, and so he focuses on Apollo. Who seems to fit right in - not that he's bothering Grantaire or boring or anything like that, but like he belongs in this kind of world. Which is silly. Grantaire knows what kind of world he belongs to, and making up these tales won't help anyone.

That's when Grantaire notices that the clerk is staring at them. Which might be due to the fact that they are the only two people currently in the store. Or they're both men standing very close to one another and Apollo is actually staring back at the clerk his gaze unreadable. Grantaire is about to say something before this gets really awkward, when the clerk clears his throat. "Can I help you sirs?"

What Grantaire really wants to say is something along the lines of 'I need a suit why else do you think I'm here?' and maybe 'would you stop staring he's mine' but instead comes out with, "I'm here to pick up my suit? I think Courfeyrac said this was the place... oh and this man needs a suit too. For tonight."

Grantaire doesn't even know if this makes sense but the clerk nodded and went into the back, so it must be alright. Apollo is staring at him with a bemused expression. "You've never been in a suit shop before, I take it?"

"I'm an artist, remember?" Grantaire said. "I avoid places like this and really hate my agent for forcing me to come and get my own suit... have you been in a store like this before?"

Apollo looked confused by the question, or how he should even try to answer it, but was saved by the clerk coming back with a suit in tow. Grantaire took it without really looking, since he didn't care at all what it looked like and focused on the interaction between clerk and... he really needed to find out his god's name. How else was he going to call out the proper name in bed when they finally had sex? No, Grantaire wasn't thinking about sex at an important moment like this. Of course not, that would be rather immature of him. Right, his Apollo was talking about sizes and Grantaire was trying his hardest to keep his thoughts as clean as possible. Doing such a thing however, was rather like painting blind without a paintbrush or any surfaces at all. It was impossible, especially when he was behind... no, this was not going to work. Grantaire considered going outside to wait but Apollo seemed to know what he was doing and actually managed to pick out his own suit while carrying on a conversation with the clerk that Grantaire hadn't noticed at all because he was busy staring at a rather perfect ass. 

"Are we all finished here then?" Grantaire asked. "Oh, and I guess these both go on my tab?"

The clerk simply nodded then looked back at Apollo, as if he wanted to ask something very badly. 

Apollo nodded. "If you're ready to go."

Oh Grantaire was definitely ready for something, but he managed to hold himself together and muttered a positive response.


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire hadn't expected the gala to be so... busy. When Courfeyrac had mentioned it, the little shit, it was casually so. Grantaire assumed a few people. Grantaire was dead wrong. He looked over to see how Apollo was taking it and was shocked to see him so comfortable in this type of scenario. At least one of them would be, Grantaire mused, holding his date closer as they entered. 

Of course Courfeyrac was waiting for him. Grantaire expected no less, and at least it was an icebreaker to this gala where Grantaire knew no one. It may have been his event, but the only time that he actually talked to his patrons was when they were handing him money, and usually Courfeyrac handled that. 

 “R!” Courfeyrac stormed towards him, a smile on his face. “You finally listened to me! Who is this charming young man?”

Grantaire looked to Apollo. He’d forgotten to ask for his actual name. Apollo shook hands with Courfeyrac. “My name’s Julien.”

“Ah, you must be Grantaire’s new muse,” Courfeyrac said. “I look forward to the new pieces. Hopefully they’ll be some soon, not like the last time you had a muse.”

Grantaire scowled. “I’m an artist, Courfeyrac. You should know better than to rush perfection!”

“It better damn well be perfection, for what everyone’s paying you,” Courfeyrac said. “Honestly R, that last piece…”

“I know, I know,” Grantaire said, trying not to remember what that last piece had been, and what the circumstances behind it all had made him feel. It had been worse than heartbreak, it was betrayal and Grantaire was pretty sure that he hadn’t been conscious while painting that. Damn Courfeyrac for bringing that up, and with _Julien_ there as well…

“I’m sure that’s behind you, right?” Courfeyrac asked, and Grantaire was surprised to detect a hint of worry to his agent’s voice. Surely he didn’t think that his drinking had to do with his ability to paint?

“It’s all behind me, don’t worry Courf,” Grantaire said. “My next piece will be brilliant.”

“It’s my job to worry, you know,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s your job to make me rich.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Are all agents such divas?”

“You know I’m the best, baby!”

Julien seemed to be amused by Courfeyrac, and so Grantaire allowed his agent to go on for awhile in this vein, until Julien pointed out that he'd never seen any of Grantaire's works. 

Courfeyrac grinned. "Well they won't be of you- not yet! - but they're still rather decent. Do you want me to give him the tour?"

"I think I can manage," Grantaire said. "If anyone knows these works it's the artist right?"

Courfeyrac nodded swiftly once, before disappearing in the crowd. Now that the artist had shown, Courfeyrac had agent things to worry about. And Grantaire had a gallery of paintings to show off. All of them seemed to pale in comparison to the man beside him. 

Grantaire was leading Apollo around, showing him his various works, when a middle aged couple approached them.

“Julien-Michel Etienne Enjolras!” the woman yelled. “What are you doing here?”

Enjolras froze. “Uh… mother…”

Grantaire stared. “This is your mother?” he asked. He knew both of them, they were patrons of his work actually, and it didn’t make any sense that their son was… in the line of work that he was.

“I was his mother,” the woman sniffed. “We don’t have a son anymore. What are you doing here? There is no way that you could afford to go to an event like this.”

“Actually, he’s my date for the evening,” Grantaire said, holding Enjolras close.

“God, I thought you were a respectable artist, Grantaire,” the man spoke up. “Don’t you know what this – boy – is? Or did he lie to you?”

“He never lied,” Grantaire said, holding onto Enjolras tighter. “Although it seems to me that you have no idea who this young man really is. I think that you two should leave.”

“What?” Enjolras former parents stared at him. “You’re making a mistake here Grantaire. Have you forgotten how much we have given you?”

“If I would have known what kind of people you really were, I’d have never accepted,” Grantaire said shortly. “Do I have to call security?”

Enjolras’ father stared at Grantaire. “You’ve made your position clear. Expect nothing more from us if you continue to associate with that – that boy.”

"I want nothing more from you." Grantaire bit his tongue, because although cursing out the couple seemed like a great idea at the moment, there were still plenty of people mingling. This was something that was painfully obvious to Enjolras' parents, and they managed to leave without making a scene. Such grace, the assholes. 

Grantaire really wanted to send security after them just because he could, but he had other priorites. Enjolras priorities.

Grantaire noticed that Enjolras was barely holding it together. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere private?”

Enjolras didn’t even seem like he was listening to Grantaire’s words and when there was silence for a few minutes he nodded like he had been thinking. Grantaire was beginning to doubt his choice in bringing Enjolras here, but how could he have known such a thing? He couldn’t, because Enjolras had never told him anything about his family. Or even his name.

Grantaire had to work with what he had, and since that was very little, he wanted somewhere private. Besides, Enjolras looked as if he was falling apart each second they remained on the floor, and Grantaire was not sure what to do with this young man. He’d never been good with sympathy or any kind of help. For once Grantaire wished that Courfeyrac was nearby, but knowing the agent he was off mingling. Or flirting. With Courfeyrac the two were closely related.

So Grantaire had to focus on Enjolras. On getting him calmed down enough for them to both leave without anyone noticing, because Grantaire seriously doubted if Enjolras could even function right now. He seemed lost in his own thoughts and if Grantaire hadn't been looking out for him then he would have been lost a hallway or two ago.

They finally made it to a spare office which was thankfully unlocked. Grantaire didn't question their luck and Enjolras didn't seem to notice. Grantaire motioned for Enjolras to take a seat and things must have been really bad, because Enjolras averted his gaze and sat down. 

“So what did you do to make them disown you?” Grantaire asked.

“I organized several protests against wealthy businessmen.” Enjolras explained. “They managed to be successful. Some of my father’s businesses – and those of his friends – went out of business. They lost a lot of money, and instead of blaming it on their corrupt methods they disowned me.”

 Grantaire couldn’t help but chuckle. “I never knew my Apollo was so feisty.”

A slow blush worked its way across Enjolras’ face. “I…” he sighed. “Now you know why I’m in this line of work. My former parents held enough influence to make sure that I couldn’t get a job. I didn’t really have any other options available.”

Grantaire didn’t quite know what to say, and so he leaned forward and kissed Enjolras. Enjolras’ eyes widened but he made no move to leave, and leaned further into the kiss.

“Come back with me,” he whispered into Enjolras’ ear. “I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

That seemed to startle Enjolras, and he pulled away from Grantaire. “I… I have to go!” Without saying another word to Grantaire, Enjolras backed away, trying to walk as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. Grantaire stared after him, trying to figure out what had just happened, and what he had said wrong. 

Before Grantaire could even process his thoughts, two semi-drunks stumbled into the office. "G-grantaire?" came Courfeyrac's slurred voice. "What are you doing in here? Wait, did I see that Julien fellow? Did you- way to go buddy!"

"We didn't," Grantaire said shortly. "I uh, I'll leave you two alone." Without waiting for a reprimand of why there were no shenanigans for Courfeyrac to interrupt, Grantaire fled back into the safety (and dullness) of the gala. God, he needed a drink. 


End file.
